The A. Merritt Megapack

by Abraham Merritt

  “You’re Kirkham!” he staggered forward. “Yes, I remember you! I was coming to you. Hide me.”

  The murmuring sounds were closer. I saw Barker slip the brass knuckles over his fingers and make ready to leap upon Cobham. I caught his arm.

  “No use,” I warned him. “They’d find him. The man’s more than half mad. But they’d make him tell. I’ll take him. Hurry! Get out of sight!”

  I seized Cobham’s arm, and raced him to the panel that opened into the bedroom. I opened it, and thrust him through. Barker at my heels, I slipped in and closed the slide.

  “Get in that closet,” I ordered Cobham, and shoved him among my clothes. I shut the doors and moved quickly with Barker into the outer room.

  “Good!” he muttered, “but I don’t fancy this.”

  “It’s the only way,” I said. “I’ll have to figure some way to get rid of him later. I don’t believe they’ll come in here. They won’t suspect me. Why should they? Still—there’s the chance. If they found you here, then the fat would be in the fire. Is there any way you can dig right out without too much risk?”

  “Yes,” the little man’s voice and eyes were troubled. “I can myke the getawye all right. But, Gord, I don’t like leavin’ you, Cap’n!”

  “Beat it!” I said brusquely. “Get to Consardine. Tell him exactly what we found. Tell Miss Demerest what’s happened. If anything does go wrong, it’s all up to you, Harry.”

  He groaned. I heard a faint noise in the bedroom. I walked over to the door and looked in. It was Cobham, stirring in the closet. I tapped upon it.

  “Be quiet,” I told him. “They may be here any minute.”

  I snapped all the lights on, full. I went back to the other room. Barker was gone.

  I threw off my coat and vest, and piled some books on the reading table. I fixed myself comfortably, lighted my pipe and began to read. The minutes passed slowly. Every nerve was tense, and every sense alert. But I flattered myself I was giving an excellent impersonation of one entirely absorbed in what I was reading.

  And suddenly I knew that eyes were upon me. That some one was standing behind me, watching me.

  I went on reading. The silent scrutiny became intolerable. I yawned and stretched, arose and turned—

  Satan stood there.

  He was cloaked from neck to feet in scarlet. At his back were half a dozen of the kehjt slaves. Two more were standing by the open panel in the bedroom.

  “Satan!” I exclaimed, and the surprise I put into the words was genuine. Whatever the possibilities I had admitted, that Satan himself would head the manhunt had not been among them.

  “You are startled, James Kirkham,” there seemed a hint of solicitude in the expressionless voice. “I, too, was startled when, knocking at your wall, you failed to answer.”

  “I did not hear you,” I said, truthfully. Had he really knocked?

  “You were, I see, deep in your book,” he said. “But you wonder, perhaps, why your silence should have disturbed me? I am in pursuit of a fugitive, a dangerous man, James Kirkham. A desperate man, I fear. The trail led us by here. It occurred to me that he might have attempted to hide in your rooms, and that resisting him you had come to harm.”

  It sounded reasonable enough. I remembered the extraordinary favor he had shown me that afternoon. My doubts were lulled; I let myself relax.

  “I thank you, sir,” I told him. “But I have seen no one. Who is the man—”

  “The man I seek is Cobham,” he interrupted me.

  “Cobham!” I stared at him as though I had not understood. “But I thought that Cobham—”

  “You thought that Cobham was in the room of the mirrors,” he interrupted. “You have wondered, without doubt, why I had put him there. You thought that he was one of my trusted aides. You thought him most valuable to me. So he was. Then suddenly that Cobham whom I trusted and who was valuable—ceased to be. Another spirit entered him, one that I cannot trust and that therefore can never be other than a menace to me.”

  With a sinking heart I saw the cold mockery in the hard bright eyes, realized that he had raised his voice as though to let it carry throughout the rooms.

  “That poor departed Cobham,” he intoned, “shall I not avenge him? Yea, verily. I will punish that usurping spirit, torment it until it prays to me to loose it from that body it has stolen. My poor, lost Cobham! He will not care what I do with that body that once was his—so he be avenged.”

  There was no mistaking the mockery now. I felt my throat contract.

  “You say you saw nothing?” he asked me.

  “Nothing,” I answered. “If anyone had come in the rooms I would have heard them.”

  Instantly I realized the error of that, and cursed myself.

  “Ah, no,” said Satan, smoothly. “You forget how immersed you were in your reading. You did not hear me. Either when I knocked or when I entered. I cannot let you run the risk of him being hidden here. We must search.”

  He gave an order to the slaves attending him. Before they could move, the closet door in the bedroom flew open. Cobham leaped out.

  His first jump took him halfway to the opened panel. I caught the gleam of steel in his hand. In an instant he was at the two slaves guarding the opening. One went down gurgling, his throat slit. The other stumbled back, hands holding his side, blood spurting through his fingers.

  And Cobham was gone.

  Satan gave another curt order. Four of the six behind him raced away and through the panel.

  The other two closed in on me, pinioning my arms to my sides with their cords.

  Satan considered me, the mockery in his eyes grown devilish.

  “I thought he would come here,” he said. “It was why, James Kirkham, I let him escape!”

  So that, too, had been a web of Satan’s weaving! And he had snared me in it!

  Suddenly an uncontrollable rage swept me. I would lie no more. I would wear a mask no more. I would never be afraid of him again. He could hurt me, damnably. He could kill me. He was probably planning to do both. But I knew him for what he was. He was stripped of his mystery and—I still had an ace in the hole of which he knew nothing. I drew a deep breath, and laughed at him.

  “Maybe!” I said cynically. “But I notice that you couldn’t keep him from escaping this time. The pity of it is that he didn’t slit your damned black throat as he went, instead of that poor devil’s yonder.”

  “Ah,” he answered, with no resentment, “truth begins to pour out of the stricken Kirkham as water poured for Moses from the stricken rock. But you are wrong once more. It is long since I have enjoyed a manhunt. Cobham is an ideal quarry. It was why I left the panel open. He will last, I hope, for days and days.”

  He spoke to one of the two kehjt drinkers guarding me. I did not understand the tongue. The slave bowed and slipped out.

  “Yes,” Satan turned to me, “he will probably last for days and days. But you, James Kirkham, equally as probably will not. Cobham cannot escape. Neither can you. I shall consider tonight with what form of amusement you shall furnish me.”

  The slave who had gone out entered with six others. Again Satan instructed them. They massed about me, and guided me toward the wall. I went, unresisting. I did not look back at Satan.

  But as I passed through the wall I could not shut my ears to his laughter!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A day had gone and another night had come before I saw Satan again. Before, in fact, I saw any one except the pallid-faced drinkers of the kehjt who brought my food.

  I had been taken, I conjectured, to one of the underground rooms. It was comfortable enough, but windowless and, of course, doorless. There they had unbound my arms and left me.

  And then, my rage swiftly ebbing, hopelessness took possession of me. Barker would make every effort to get to Consardine. I was sure of that. But would he be able to get to him in time? Would Consardine accept his word for what we had discovered? I did not think so. Consardine was of the kind that
has to be shown. Or, supposing he did believe, would his own hot wrath lead him to some hasty action that would set him with Cobham and myself? Leave Satan triumphant?

  And what of Eve? What might she not do when she heard from Harry what had happened to me? For I had no doubt that the little man would soon find a way of finding out what had occurred.

  What deviltries upon me was Satan hatching for his—amusement?

  My night had not been an exactly hilarious one. The day had dragged endlessly. When I faced Satan I hoped that I showed no signs of those hours.

  He had entered unannounced, Consardine with him. He wore the long black cloak. His eyes glittered over me. I looked from him to Consardine. Had Barker seen him? His face was calm, and he regarded me indifferently. My heart sank.

  Satan sat down. Without invitation, I followed suit. I pulled out my cigarette case, and politely offered Satan one; a bit of childish bravado for which I was immediately sorry. He paid no attention to the gesture, studying me.

  “I am not angry with you, James Kirkham,” Satan spoke. “If I could feel regret, I would feel it for you. But you, yourself, are wholly responsible for your plight.”

  He paused. I made no answer.

  “You would have deceived me,” he went on. “You lied to me. You attempted to save from my justice a man I had condemned. You put your will against mine. You dared to try to thwart me. You have endangered my venture regarding the Astarte, if indeed you have not negatived it. You are no more to be trusted. You are useless to me. What is the answer?”

  “My elimination, I suppose,” I replied, carelessly. “But why waste time justifying one of your murders, Satan? By this time, I should think, murder would be second nature to you, no more to be explained than why you eat when you are hungry.”

  His eyes flickered.

  “You deliberately invited Cobham’s confidences, and you would have attempted to prevent the sinking of the Astarte, knowing that I had decreed it,” he said.

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “And you lied to me,” he repeated. “To me!”

  “One good lie deserves another, Satan,” I answered. “You began the lying. If you had come clean with me, I’d have told you not to trust me with that job. You didn’t. I suspected you hadn’t. Very well, the man who lies to me in one thing will lie in another.”

  I shot a swift glance at Consardine. His face was as indifferent as ever, imperturbable as Satan’s own.

  “The minute Cogham let the cat out of the bag, I lost all faith in you,” I went on. “For all I know, your assassins on the Cherub might have had their orders to do away with me after I had pulled your chestnuts. As I once heard another of your dupes say—blame yourself, Satan. Not me.”

  Consardine was watching me intently. I was feeling pretty reckless by now.

  “Father of Lies,” I said, “or to give you another of your ancient titles, Prince of Liars, the whole matter can be summed up in two short sentences. You can’t trust me, and I know too much. All right. For both of those conditions you have only yourself to thank. But I also know you. And if you think I’m going to beg you for any mercy—you don’t know me.”

  “Consardine,” he said, tranquilly, “James Kirkham had such good material in him. He could have been so useful to me. It’s a pity, Consardine. Yes, it is a pity!”

  He regarded me benevolently.

  “Although, frankly, I do not see how the knowledge can profit you,” he said, “I feel that you should know the error that betrayed you. Yes, I wish to help you, James Kirkham,” the great voice purred, “for it may be that there is a land to which we go when this mortal coil is cut. If so, it is probably much like this. You may even find me or my counterpart there. You will not care to repeat your mistakes.”

  I listened to this sinister jesting silently; after all, I was curious.

  “Your first error was your reference to the bridge game. I noted the surprise it caused Cobham. You were too precipitate. You could just as well have waited your time. Remember, then, if you should reach that next world, never to be precipitate.

  “Obviously, you had a reason. Equally obviously, it was my cue to discover that reason. Lesson two—in that world to which you may shortly be traveling, be careful to give to your opponent no cue to eavesdrop.

  “When I re-entered, you ingenuously forbore to notice Cobham’s very apparent consternation. You studiously kept your eyes from him during the ensuing conversation. That was too naive, James Kirkham. It showed you underestimated the intelligence you were seeking to convince. Your proper move was complete and instant indignation. You should have sacrificed Cobham by accusing him to me. In that bright new world in which you may or may not soon find yourself, never underestimate your opponent.

  “But I gave you still another chance. Knowing Cobham, I knew that after my careful—ah—treatment—his mind would fasten upon you as a refuge, his only refuge. He was given the treatment, he saw you, and then he was allowed to escape. He came, as I thought he would, straight to you. If, at the moment he entered your rooms, you had caught him, sounded the alarm, again—sacrificed him, perhaps I would still have believed in you. It was weakness, sentimentality. What was Cobham to you? Remember, then, in your new sphere, to eschew all sentimentality.”

  Out of that cynical harangue two facts apparently shone clear. Satan did not know that I had gone out of my rooms, nor that I had encountered Cobham outside them. I took some comfort from that. But—had Cobham been caught? Would he tell?

  “By the way, how is Cobham?” I asked, politely.

  “Not so well, not so well, poor fellow,” said Satan, “yet he was able to give me an enjoyable afternoon. At present he is lying in the darkness of a crypt near the laboratory, resting. Shortly he will be given an opportunity to leave it. During his carefully guided wanderings thereafter, he will have the chance to snatch a little food and drink. I do not wish him to wear himself out in his efforts to amuse me. Or, to put it another way, it is not my intention to allow him to die of exhaustion or famine. No, no, the excellent Cobham will provide me with many merry hours still. I shall not send him back to my little mirrors. They have drawn his fangs. But at the last I will inform him of your interest, since, I am quite sure, you will be unable.”

  He arose.

  “James Kirkham,” said Satan, “in half an hour you shall be judged. Be ready at that time to appear in the Temple. Come, Consardine.”

  My hope that he would leave Consardine with me went crumbling. Desperately I wanted to talk to him. He followed Satan out. The wall closed behind him. He had not even turned his head.

  I remembered Cartright. Consardine had brought him in, stood beside him before he had begun the ordeal of the steps. Probably he would return for me.

  But he did not. When the half hour had elapsed four of the kehjt drinkers came for me. Two in front of me, two behind me, they marched me through long corridors and up steep ramps of stone. They halted. I heard the sound of a gong. A panel opened. The slaves would have pushed me in, but I struck aside their hands and stepped through. The panel closed.

  I stood within the Temple.

  I was within the semidarkness beyond the ring of brilliant light beating down upon the steps. I heard a murmuring. It came from my left where the amphitheater circled. I caught movement there, glimpses of white faces. The seats seemed full. I thought I heard Eve’s voice, whispering, vibrant—

  “Jim!”

  I could not see her.

  I looked toward the dais. It was as it had been when I had watched Cartright stumble up toward it. The golden throne gleamed. On it glittered the jeweled scepter and crown.

  Upon the black throne sat Satan.

  Squatting beside him, fiend’s face agrin, twirling his cord of woman’s hair, was Sanchal, the executioner.

  Again the gong sounded.

  “James Kirkham! Approach for judgment!” Satan’s voice rolled out.

  I walked forward. I paused at the foot of the steps, within the circle of lig
ht. The seven glimmering prints of the child’s foot stared at me out of the black stone.

  Guarding them, seven upon each side, stood the white-robed slaves of the kehjt. Their eyes were fixed upon me.

  The thoughts went racing through my brain. Should I cry out the secret of the black throne to those who sat silent, watching me from the circled seats of stone? I knew that before I uttered a dozen words the cords of the kehjt slaves would be strangling me. Could I make one swift dash up the steps and grapple with Satan? They would have me before I had reached halfway.

  One thing I might do. Take the steps leisurely. Make my fourth and final one the sixth of the shining prints. Their arrangement was irregular. The sixth was not far from the black throne. Closer than the seventh. I could leap from it upon Satan. Sink fingers and teeth into his throat. Once I had gripped I did not believe it would be easy for any to tear me away, were I alive or dead.

  But Barker? Barker might have his plan. It would not be like the little man to lurk hidden, and supinely let me pass. And Consardine? But did Consardine know?

  And Eve!

  The thoughts jostled. I could not think clearly. I held fast to my last idea, fixing my gaze upon Satan’s throat just below the ear. There was where I would sink my teeth.

  But was I to be allowed to take the steps?

  “James Kirkham,” Satan’s voice rolled forth, “I have set upon the throne of gold the crown and scepter of worldly power. It is to remind you of that opportunity which your contumacy has lost to you, forever.”

  I looked at them. For all that I cared they might be bits of colored glass. But I heard a faint sighing from the hidden seats.

  “James Kirkham, you would have betrayed me! You are a traitor! It remains now but to decree your punishment!”